One of the best ideas I have ever had: adopt a dog from an Instagram post, with a long-distance boyfriend, have no stable plan for where it will live, or how to pay for it, get told it's nothing like the pup you wanted, and adopt it anyways. Say yes over and over until you get said pup despite every bright, shiny red flag that keeps popping up. If this doesn't sound like a recipe for success to you, then I'm not sure what will in this blog. Some might call it irresponsible, and honestly, those some might be right. But let me tell you, I have absolutely zero regrets about this one seemingly catastrophic choice.
I'm scrolling Instagram when I see the particularly adorable puppy announcement a friend had shared online. In the picture, her Golden Retriever is surrounded by pickles, peanut butter, and other notorious human pregnancy cravings. Of course, my first response is I want one. What I didn't expect was for my boyfriend at the time to agree. The puppies were free, and my boyfriend had wanted his own big dog ever since living with his roommates. The details of who said what are fuzzy, but within the hour we were on the waitlist for a female golden retriever puppy from my friend's mama dog's litter.
First things first: where to put her? I was living at home finishing my senior year of college, and my boyfriend was living an hour and thirty minutes away doing the same. Our brainchild was this: let's have her live with my boyfriend for the first couple of months until we graduated, and once we graduated, we would move in together with said pup (spoiler: we did not). Next on the list was to buy all the things. I was beside myself; it was a dream. Weeks before the pups were even born, I had a crate, toys, bowls, food, treats, collars, leashes, and had lugged all these supplies up to my boyfriend's rented townhouse. Things were getting exciting, and I was eager to get my hands on this pup. But no one told me that maybe the momma dog wouldn't have enough girls.
She was a he, and he was not a golden retriever. My friend texted me ironically on the weekend of my boyfriend and I's anniversary letting me know that the pups had come early, there was only one girl, and due to complications, the majority of the litter had not survived. These unfortunate circumstances left us with two options, no puppy at all, or take on the little Yoda lookalike male puppy that was left over by the time they got to our names on the list. Of course, I have committed to this puppy getting experience at this point. And I have never been the gal to give up on a dream because of a bump in the road. AKA: I'm stubborn to a fault. My vote was still solidly in favor of taking the wrinkly little black colored male, even though he did totally look like Yoda, with wide set ears and a smushed nose. My boyfriend at the time immediately showed cold feet. And unlike all the other red flags up to this point, you would have thought that made me pause. My biggest partner in this was nervous, that's a big deal! Haha, NOPE. You don't know me well yet if you believed that. It took some convincing to get him to agree to following through, which he did eventually do. The only thing that had changed now was that our Bonnie had become our Hank.
Weeks later, he was ours. Hank was a cute, timid Golden Retriever/Chocolate Labrador mix that liked to nap and chew on things he wasn't supposed to. He had grown out of his Yoda phase, but he was definitely best described as a Black Labrador. He spent his first few months living in a college townhouse where he learned to sit, shake, be gentle, and lay down. He would go off on adventures every time you let him outside (no fence meant lots of adventures), he chewed coffee tables and cords, and had accidents where he wasn't supposed to. He also made lots of friends and was well loved by all.
About three months after getting Hank my boyfriend and I were graduating from our respective colleges. Plans had changed drastically from when we got Hank, as they do in college and you're young. I was still looking for a job, and my boyfriend at the time was planning on relocating five hours away. So... what about Hank? Pro tip: when you get your first pet, if you're in college still, beta fish travel well. Finally, a month after graduating and lots of stress headaches later, I had a job offer and was able to start making plans to find a new living situation for myself. I found a small 600 sq. ft. apartment that I could barely afford with the pet rent and dove in. Hank came to live with me at that point. He was officially my responsibility until my boyfriend and I could be together again (another spoiler alert, that also did not happen).
I was living almost two hours from home for the first time in my life, my friends had all moved to different cities, and my boyfriend was five hours away. I was lonely in a way I wasn't familiar with. At work I had great friends, I had joined a local church I loved, and I spent several nights a week playing in adult sports leagues at the local community centers in the area. But in the evenings, mornings, and anytime I wasn't busy, it was just me. And that was not very fun. I figured out pretty quickly I was a gal that liked my community and my people close.
But it wasn't just me, there was Hank. Hank made home feel more like home even though it was just us ninety five percent of the time. In the first year I had him full time, he faked what I thought was his eminent death after he chewed a remote so badly, I had to assume he had swallowed the missing battery. That was the night I learned where the 24-hour emergency vet was. After I got home at 2 AM with a dog who had a clean bill of health, I was exhausted. A week later I found the missing battery behind my couch while cleaning. I would get notifications from my security cameras that there was motion in my living room while I was at work, only to check the film and find him standing on my coffee table on all fours, looking out the window. (I still don't know why; he could see out that window from the ground.) We had one particularly nasty and explosive accident in my car while out for a relaxing drive, which taught me more about detailing a car than I ever wanted to know. I figured out he watches TV, and his favorite shows involve animals. He would diligently stare at the TV as I sat nearby working on my laptop, giggling every now and then when he would growl softly or bark. Hank and I explored trails and parks in the evenings, and I woke up to his quiet protests every morning at six thirty to be let out. It was impossible to feel lonely with his bossy little 'woof' directing when he wanted more food or be served more treats. I met more of my neighbors through Hank's persistence than I did of my own accord. By the time my boyfriend that I shared Hank with and I finally split up, it was clear that I expected to keep Hank. At this point I'd had Hank for almost a full year, and the boyfriend agreed that it was best.
Here's why I write this Life has changed quite a bit since the day I decided I wanted a puppy, right down to the puppy I thought I was getting. Because I chose him when I did, Hank has had to adapt. Hank has lived through four different living situations in his life, two of which did not have a backyard. He has lived in small apartments. My career choices have meant that he has lived in three different towns. He has had to be gentle with me after a surgery when his walks were briefly suspended. Hank has watched me mourn personal loses and celebrate some of my greatest victories. I've forced him into matching Christmas pjs, jackets, and bandanas. Hank has had to learn how to be in the house for an extended period of time by himself without much entertainment anytime I'm away. But as I sit here and type this, he is sprawled underneath my feet in my living room snoring quietly. He has a yard that is fenced, a toybox that is full, and I have a work situation where I can come home at lunch every day to let him out. There's a TikTok sound trending right now that is dedicated to 'that dog that you got in your twenties'. How they 'watched you grow up'. Hank is my twenties dog. He has rolled with the punches like I have rolled with his.
I did not write this post to discourage you from getting that dog in your twenties. I wrote this post to introduce you to my twenties dog. Hank is one of my best decisions. There were lots of times that it could have been better for Hank to be with a different person who could give him more. There have been multiple times that Hank was not a convenient pet. You're going to pay a bit more for your twenties dog, monetarily and emotionally. Rent will be higher, and you may even have to pay someone to help you with them if you're alone. You're going to probably wonder how it survived you one day, whether that's because of the dog food you chose to feed it or just your lack of knowledge in general. You'll worry about what you're putting it through sometimes, but that dog will always be happy to see you. And lots of days, that's all you need. That's the synopsis of the life of Hank thus far, my first dog. The OG. I felt like it was right to introduce him properly and trust me when I say I am excited to tell you all about him, even his key role in all the misfortunate events I listed above.
XOXO
Comments